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Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

I didn't realise I had experienced Sexual violence until I was in a women's refuge. It was when they were going through my experiences and fully explained the sexual abuse that I realised. I was often coerced into sex and one time after a night out I woke up to him on top of me, I was frozen and couldn't move. This was my husband, I trusted him.

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

When I was 12/13 and my brother was 9ish, he started to grope me. At first it was just quick grabs of my breasts or ass. But he started to get more confident and began groping and squeezing for longer and longer periods of time and doing it more frequently. Eventually he started grabbing/cupping my vulva through my clothes. I was a bit bigger than him and could successfully fight him off, but I was not allowed to. My parents knew what was happening and he often did stuff like this in front of them. They ignored it and acted like it wasn't happening. He never got in trouble for it. They would only tell him to stop in the moment if there was a guest over or I was begging them to momentarily intervene. But if I pushed him, hit him, or even just yelled at him to stop, I got in trouble with my parents. I cried and begged my parents for months to talk to him and make him stop, but they never did. I was constantly choosing between letting my own brother touch me and getting punished by my parents for self-defense. It was agony. This probably went on for 9 months. I don't know if I'm really a victim of abuse or anything. My brother was younger than me and smaller than me. In COCSA cases, it's almost always an older abuser and a younger victim. That's not my situation. He knew touching me was wrong, but he didn't have a complete understanding of consent and sex. But, he was old enough to understand "no" and me crying. As his older sister, I feel like I also have a responsibility towards him and that I should have done more in that situation. But how could I? My parents didn't help me and I was punished for protecting myself.

This is another incident from my survivor story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER. I am working up to the police incident. Please read my story for context. This one brought back pain in writing it. Sophomore year of my philosophy major in college. I had recently gone on a trip to Portugal with nice older man who basically invited me to Portugal with the understanding that I would be his lover for a free trip. He had been one of my customers at the restaurant and I took him up on his proposition for the fun of it and had a great time. That was my spring break. This was a few year period when I was very promiscuous after being abused by my brother for years at home and repressed in a Catholic high school as parental punishment for starting a sexual relationship with a boy my age. When a girl in my logic course who was pre-law invited me to a fraternity party I thought it would be nice to hang with people my own age. Fraternities and sororities were not my cup of tea and still are not. After doing a keg stand to impress strangers I was looking for the upstairs bathroom because the line for the downstairs one was long. That one had a few girls waiting and a guy who had held one of my legs for the keg stand started flirting with me and offered to take me to a secret bathroom. The bathroom was legit but then he beckoned me into a bedroom across from it where two other frat brothers were. I was apprehensive but with the other guys there I was a little more at ease that he wasn’t just trying to take me to bed. I was open to finding a hot guy, to be honest, but he was NOT it. Neither were the other two. I sat chatting with them and drinking tiny shots of cinnamon whiskey and getting more nervous when somebody tried to get in the door to the room but it was locked. My guy yelled at them to go away. Then I tried to get up and leave but was pulled back to my seat the bed. I am small so I am easily overpowered. “You can’t leave yet. We’re just getting to know you.” One rapist said. “No teases allowed here.” “What do I have to do to get back out to my friend?” I asked something like that but used her name. They looked at each other with nasty smirks and I regretted the question. What one of them came up was a blowjob contest in which I have twenty seconds to make each of them cum but I had to go in circle until one did and then he was eliminated and I had to do all three. So they stood on three sides of the bed with me in the middle and took out their penises. One had a stop watch and without hesitation I started sucking the one nearest me. I wanted to get out of there and was physically afraid of them. This was away to avoid any violence and not even give them the satisfaction of thinking they forced me to do anything. So I went round and round getting very tired. 20 seconds was too short and they had pulled off all my clothes. I stopped and asked the one who made up the game for 60 seconds. Suddenly I was pulled violently back by my legs from the one behind me he held my legs apart as he quickly started banging me. I did not even see his face until later. The one who I had been talking to got up on the bed and started doing it to my mouth. I don’t me he put it in my mouth. He grabbed my head with both hands and forced it in and was banging my face as hard as the guy behind me was doing it. I had to stay up on my elbows arched to prevent him from ripping my hair up to keep me at his level. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. It had always been one partner at a time. They were mean and I tried so hard to keep up. After that craziness was over and both of them satisfied themselves in me, the original guy pulled me up onto the bed and said something like, “Only one hole left for me.” I was not used to anal sex then. I offered to go wash up if he would please not do anal with me. He laughed and shook his head. So, laying on my back with my legs spread, he squirted some aloe vera gel from the bedside table down there and watched me face to face as he worked his penis in one thrust at a time. He saw the pain on my face that I could not hide. I had to kiss him while her hurt me. Even when he got going fast it took him a while. One of them was watching us, smiling from the side and the other was playing with his phone and I think taking pictures. Phones did not do videos yet. The smiling one once asked, “Dude, is it really in her ass?” After he was finished with me he thanked me and left. Said he had responsibilities. The one with the phone left too. I tried to leave. “Not so fast.” The other one said pushing me back down. I told him I had done everything they wanted and more and asked to please leave. He told me I was the hottest chick he had ever F-’d and he wanted round 2. I just wanted to get out of there. One more obstacle. I worked my mouth on him for a while to get him even half rubbery again and worked it inside. That failed and I had to do it again. Finally I used every trick I could including faking orgasms, having a real orgasm, and talking dirty to him to get him to release inside me. I was so shaky and exhausted after being their whore for so long it was hard to get my clothes on. I was in fear he would stop me, and he did. I told him I just wanted to got pee and clean up and asked him if I could sleep in his bed with him—just a trick. I worked. I thanked him, nonchalantly closed the door behind me and hurried down the stairs without drawing too much attention. I kept a smile on my face as I made it out the front door and off the porch. I kept of the act for a block before I just started running as far away as I could. I was actually terrified someone might be after me until I was out of the neighborhood far from campus and to a gas station. I called a taxi and went home. My roomate was sleeping in her room and I just sat in the shower. In my story I used this as an example of how I avoided being raped by just going with it when I was in a rape situation. But this felt like rape. I went back to partying and using alcohol and marijuana to dampen the impact and feel artificially warm and fuzzy. And casual sex with hot men. But this was rape. I was gang raped. Maybe better for me than if I had tried to fight them and lost but it still sucks and leaves me with hurt and guilt and fear.

You hear it all over the news. You see it in films and tv shows. As women, we are often warned, and we hear comments about ‘safety in numbers’ when you go to the toilet. ‘Watch your drinks’ when out and about. ‘Don’t show that much skin, cover up’. ‘You can’t wear that.’ ‘Get a taxi home, it’s not safe to walk’… unfortunately words can not protect you from the intentions of others. I went on a night out with friends, a reunion that started off so well. I remember the dancing, the constant flow of drinks…pints, gin, vodka, sambuca to name a few. Yes, it is not ideal to mix however, when you are reminiscing, and your group had a booth with a table full of drinks; you would probably do the same! Anyway, the lights flashed, the music bounced off the walls and suddenly a trip to the loo mixed with alcohol on a busy autumn international night in Location…makes you forget what floor you left your friends on. Fast forward to the smoking area alone on the phone, where I swayed and debated leaving. “A taxi home would be safer than walking in the rain”. Before I was allowed in, I had to pay by card, he insisted on no cash. I entered the taxi behind the passenger seat in the back and it began. The looks through the rear-view mirror were instant…my memory of the journey is absent until we reach my corner. My directions at this point were now ignored but I trusted him. He parked, away from my house. He locked the car with me still inside. He looked back. “Kiss me”. He had hold of my wrists and climbed through to the back where he began to sexually assault me. I am unsure for how long this lasted but he later broke away and asked to use my toilet. This enabled me to get out of the car so…I said yes. Why I ever thought I could get into my house first in a pair of heels whilst heavily intoxicated I do not know, but even so, I looked back to see how ahead I was…even now I can see him running down that pavement to reach me at my door. In my own home, he was in control. He stole my breath, he stole my voice, he stole my body. He raped me. No one ever prepares you for an event like that, or even how to tell your parents. I went to SARC, I did the forensics and repetitive questions, and I was told it would take years of my life away if I were to take it further. So, I went back to work the following Monday as I had a responsibility to fulfil. It weighed on my shoulders. I knew there was an expectation. Many google searches informed me of my next steps…I made an anonymous complaint to the Police, and everything began to move. Everything became intense…I was living out what felt like a BBC drama. Months later he denied it in court, so we went to trial. The support I received was minimal. I was still working, taking unpaid time off. My close family and friends were those who got me through the days in court, the days in-between and the days I live now. I took away the screen during my time on the stand, I answered every insulting question and remark. I looked him in the eyes, he held eye contact for only a few seconds before breaking into a smirk; as I broke down in the stand. I was torn to pieces in front of a judge, jury and courtroom. In front of him, who proceeded to spin his web of lies which were the complete opposite to the ones he had said in his initial statement. “To be a good liar, one needs a good memory” …He was found guilty. It took 2 weeks for me to be seen as a victim and believed. Fast forward to the sentencing hearing where my main pillars of support accompanied me…I read out my victim impact statement… He got 11 years…a minimum of 8 ½. I got a lifetime sentence, anxiety, depression, dissociation, insomnia, scars and PTSD. February 2024, 2 months after the 1st anniversary; I made my 3rd attempt. A phone call from a friend pulled me back to reality, who later pulled me off the bridge. A mixture of anger, tears and confusion filled the next couple of days, and I knew I needed to take back control of my mind and body. Which is hard when his monstrous hands are imprinted, his poisonous breath echoing in and flooding my ears and the pain weighing heavy on my body. This time I had to do something different. I could not bring myself to hurt anyone else further, so I searched online. I came across The Survivors Trust and after a quick scan through what they had to offer, I instantly thought ‘why wasn’t I told about this sooner?’. Talking can feel repetitive especially when you cannot explain how exactly you are feeling…which is ok in this sense because of their ‘Survivor Resources’. They echo that everyone has a different healing journey and they have sets of resources that have been put together with the survivor in mind…whilst also having a section for those who are looking for help on how to support a survivor they love in their lives. The Survivors Trust then became an outlet for me because even though I am very much at the beginning of my healing journey, I felt responsible and motivated to raise awareness for this charity. No one should ever have to face a traumatic event like this but sadly, the actions of others are something we cannot control. Therefore, I created a Facebook page called ‘Name’ and started promoting my quiz night followed by live music and started a Just Giving Page. I never anticipated a big response; I had a goal of £1000. A goal of raising awareness for the charity, fellow victims and survivors. A goal to inform. The CSEW estimated that 1.1 million adults aged 16 years and over experienced sexual assault in the year ending March 2022 (798,000 women and 275,000 men). 15% of girls and 5% of boys have experienced sexual violence by the time they are sixteen. Every five minutes in the UK someone experiences rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault by penetration. ‘On the face of it, something has to change’ (Prima Facie, 2022). Date he was sentenced. Date 2 I raised a total of Specific amount from site.. People have different opinions on the length of time to which I will be ‘fixed’. “Sometimes, it takes a few days”. A few days, a few weeks; a few months to fully grasp what happened, to trust myself? Living in and out of my own body, not knowing when it is truly me or what is now left. The sleepless nights, the nights that repeat every detail. Every once in a while, my ears go out, ringing as I simply stare into thin air, dissociating and remembering each and every detail without speaking a word. Sometimes it only takes a smell, a name, a piece of clothing, a sound to take me back to these moments. It does not take much to remind the brain of the agony. It’s hard. I float throughout each day, each night, as each aspect of the memory replays every time, I take a second to think…no matter where or who I am with. It is currently day 630…I have finally started EMDR therapy, I am still at times in denial of the events, and I am very much at the beginning of my journey. I am beginning to understand there is no timeframe on healing and with the support of this charity, my close family and name, taking time to self-care and keeping up with my medication is all I can do for now. Everyone is different. Therefore, it is totally natural to heal and deal with trauma in different ways. I work and like to keep busy…some say to avoid/escape the flashbacks but unfortunately, they do not escape me. However, although I have tried many times not to be…I am alive, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure things change. No one should live in the fear of not being believed. No one should be put into situations where they experience a type of sexual assault. No one should have to go through something they could not control and feel guilty for the rest of their lives. No one should feel alone. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel shame, guilt, embarrassment, regret and the list goes on but I will get there. I am alive today because of the resources and support presented on The Survivors Trust site. My journey is very much at the beginning, and I so wish I knew about this charity sooner. Therefore, this is me giving back as well as letting others know about the charity, not only the victims either…Survivors Trust helps everyone impacted. Raising Amountp is just the start of the work I will be doing for the charity. It is okay to talk, there are people who will believe, who will support in any way they can. Together we are stronger…you do not have to face this battle alone. I have recently continued to share my story and been a listening ear to others on my page Name on Instagram and Facebook. I don't want anyone to ever feel alone in their trauma, in their healing, in their journey. I am far beyond cured. My EMDR therapy has been completed but its like a bomb has gone off...I've accepted what has happened, happened. But it'll forever be part of who I am no matter how many steps forward I take. He gets out in 5 years and is then under watch for 3 years as he is eased back into society - that support has been planned for him. However, if I didn't attempt to take my life 5 times...I would never have been put forward for MH screening by my gp who then referred me for EMDR. I wasn't given any support from SARC or Victim Support - and it's honestly made me feel so defeated yet again by him. Yes, he was found guilty and went to prison in 2023 but I am the one serving the life sentence.

Inappropriate touching is how I would refer to what my ex-husband would do. We were together for nearly numberyears. There were countless times that I would wake up with his hands down my pyjamas, him having intercourse with me, him forcing me to do things to him, that this just became normal. I felt that this was part of my marriage. I now know that this should not have been the case and no man should ever treat a woman like this. That consent cannot be taken it must be given. We separated and he was still living in the house. I had a hospital admission. He was helping look after our three children. He would come into my bedroom at nighttime after I came home from hospital and rub my back and belly, even though I had asked him not to. This progressed on two occasions to rape, I had said no, he continued to do it. I did not realize at the time that this is what it was. Even writing this now is difficult. It was only three years later after discussing the inappropriate touching with a therapist that she used that word with me. Deep down I knew how fundamentally wrong this all was but never saw myself as having been sexually assaulted or raped by my husband while we were married or just after we had separated. I still find it extremely difficult to say this word out loud. Most of my friends or family do not know this has happened. It is a very lonely place but speaking to professionals certainly helps with the shame and guilt that I hold myself.

Hi. I am now 20 years old. This happened when I was 4 and 8 years old. I was sexually assaulted by my baby sisters father when I was 4, I watched him force my other sister (2 years old) to go down on him / lick his penis. Me as well. My siblings and I have different fathers. I remember running away from him, climbing onto a bunk bed. He grabbed me, and walked me back to my mothers and his bedroom. He threw me onto the bed and used a white sock to lock the double doors. I was wearing cartoon underwear. My memory cuts off when he penetrates, but I feel physical pain when I try to think of it. No one believed me when I opened up after I was 8. When I was 8, I woke up with my grandmothers ex husbands hands in my pants. He groomed me for years. He taught me to ride a bike when I was younger. I told my mother right away, went to therapy and testified against him. He went to prison, but for only 4-5 years. My therapist was the first person I told about my sisters father. However my mother didn’t believe me, because there was no damage when they checked at 9 years old. She thought he was a good man, and I was just making it up. Even when my baby sister came out and said her dad had been hurting her. Easter of 2019, my baby sister called me. Her baby sister, 4 years old, was being sexually abused by her father. They have court coming up next year, and it breaks my heart. The father is no longer allowed around his children, thank god. But if someone believed us, maybe we could’ve prevented it. I still struggle with this today. My flashbacks and nightmares worsen in 2018, once I was in my own place and comfortable to start processing the trauma. In the past 5 months, my grandmothers ex husband kept coming into my job. I recognized him by the back of his head. I haven’t seen him since the court room. I hyperventilated and had to leave work multiple times, until my managers finally got a chance to tell him that him and his mother is not allowed there. He pretended like he didn’t recognize me when we confronted him, but the second time he came in we made eye contact and by his reaction on the security footage he knew me. His parole officer called me, asked for my address so if he came near my apartment or job, his ankle bracelet would alert him. I am very relieved. I hope one day, I’ll heal. I’ll be okay. But for now I’m taking baby steps.

Date, around Time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking me to see him face-to-face. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date 2, around Time 2 Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what was he doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in Date 3. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. Date 4 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. Date Range I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the Location County Jail in Location, Pennsylvania.

The bitterest truth that I had to face was understanding the depth of trauma. Not just the type of trauma that forms after an injury but the ones that are under the surface, winding through veins, in the dark places of a soul...in the parts of the mind that we lock away. The kind that hides. Goes dormant. Waits until you aren't ready and makes you face the reality that you've lost something you'll never get back. Innocence. I grew up sheltered, protected, and a little misguided. Intelligence didn't skip me but street smarts certainly did. I didn't have a road map to navigate through the ins and outs of the bad things that could lurk around corners...and it left me open to grooming at fifteen. He changed me in a permanent way. The internet let him in and my yearning to feel important, needed, and wanted, kept him there to imprint on a psyche that wasn't emotionally or mentally mature enough to understand the repercussions of actions. Mistakes were made and spirals became trainwrecks. I carried the burden of a closeted life into my college years and it left me exposed to the unfathomable. A predator saw me from a mile away--cloaked in something that resembled friendship, disguised by a pretext that ripped away the last shreds of dignity. I had no reason to doubt them but I should have. The drink in my hand, the fuzziness floating through my head, and the spilled champagne gave me no warning. That's when the lights went out. That's when it went dark and every action that followed was no longer my own. He took my memories. My self-worth. My sense of security. My dignity. Bruised, broken, and confused...I spiraled. I tried to cover the marks on my face and scrambled to find what was left of my clothes, but he'd done his homework. He destroyed everything. He made it look like a blackout gone wrong and was already telling me the opposite of the truth. I already knew the truth. I felt it in my gut. I was raped. Another light within me flickered and went out with a smirk on his face. This man actually wanted to touch me after violating my body. I backed into a corner. I shrank. I sobbed. I kept repeating the word "why" like it was a singular mantra, without refrain. He had no answers. Just excuses and justifications for his actions. I heard every word that no one ever wants to hear. "No one will believe you", "I have her, why would I need to drug and force you?", "It's your word against mine.", "You know that this is all in your head, right?" I believed him. I did not seek justice out of fear. Out of humiliation. Out of a lack of faith in myself. It nearly killed me and, despite scars that haunted me for six years, part of me wondered if I deserved it. That was my rock bottom and it followed me for a very long time but the choice to rise from the ashes has stuck with me. I refused to let him take me down. I refused to let his ghost take away what remained of my spirit. Seventeen years have passed and I'm alive...but he isn't. He blamed me for a life shattered but a guilty conscience never fades. He chose not to live with the consequences that I bear the weight of every day of my life. There's a part of me that regrets the chance to report him but I know that I look at my life as a series of experiences (traumatic or not) that have permanently etched into the darkest parts of my heart. I lived. I can hold my head up high and know that I overcame more than anyone should. My rapist might've taken away something that I can never get back but I refuse to drown. I refuse to give up. I refuse to give in. I refuse to see my broken pieces as less than incredible; lined with gold.

Hello, everyone! I will immediately say that I am from Russia and do not know English well, so I am writing a post via Google translate. I must say right away - I do not support the policy of my country. Since my relatives do not sit on reddit (it is not popular with the older generation in Russia), I would like to share my story here, but keep my anonymity just in case. I want the Internet to know about my story, maybe some people have a similar situation as me and they will realize that they are not alone. Know, guys, I support you, you are the suns💕 I have never written such serious posts before and maybe there will be a lot of water here (for which I apologize). So, let's move on to the story itself. Let's go back 8 years ago, when I was still ten years old and was about to turn 11. My grandparents took me to the village to my godmother's mother (in Russia there is such a tradition - to baptize a child and give two people the position of godmother and godfather, who will be responsible for him before God. They may not be spouses, completely different people, of different ages), there were also in the village - the niece of the godmother, a girl a year younger than me, her teenage daughters and her husband. The godmother was there less often than her daughters in the village, which of course went into the hands of her husband. Because, as you know, teenagers like to walk in different places, explore the surroundings, which her teenage daughters often did, and therefore it was easier to commit a crime. And my godmother's husband presented it through a game. He showed "secret" techniques when he served in the army and was taught how to fight the enemy - to take off his pants, which he did the whole month that we were there. At first, as I said, it was a game, but in which something went wrong - he took off our pants and licked that place, and it still makes me sick like a child. Then it got worse - he just caught us and took off our pants and it all came down to those oral, terrible caresses (sorry for being so frank, I write on emotions so I don't know how to describe it exactly), we tried to fight him, but he beat us (damn 40-year-old kachek), while he was doing "this" with one, the other of us tried to save the victim, but nothing worked, and the roles changed. He also liked to show us his strength and arrange fights against his musly hand. Then he locked us in a room once, tied us up and did terrible things, it was so vague that I hardly remember anything. We both couldn't believe what had happened for a long time, it seemed to us that it was just a stupid dream. That this is not real, a kind, calm uncle who has two loving daughters, a good wife, a decent family who helped his relative in difficult times and sheltered her by raising (an adopted daughter). By the way, there is another character here - my friend's grandmother, my godmother's mother, where we lived, she owned that house. She did not notice what was going on behind her, always busy in the garden (a typical grandmother from Russia). As I said, the pedophile made a perfect plan for his crime, calculating everything in a straight line, he is a smart bastard because he also realized that we are both modest girls and will be afraid to tell adults about what happened. And he also had one trump card up his sleeve, but more on that later. Then it started what I hate myself for and why I was afraid at first to tell my family and what happened because he could reveal me - my girlfriend and I started asking him to touch us there, we were pleased (what the hell?), in a matter of time we stopped resisting him and what-something went wrong in our psyche. I'm just sick to the point of vomiting. It was once, but this time I'm sooo ashamed, it feels like I betrayed Name - the very girl in me who resisted him. For one more time, I'm also ashamed - we wanted to bring him discomfort and take revenge on him by pulling off his underpants, looking at his naked prick and laughing at him so that he would be ashamed. Do you remember what I said about the trump card? It turns out that we gave it to him ourselves. He told his daughter that we were "climbing" into his underpants and that she should talk to us. His daughter scolded us, and I remember we looked at her with fear in our eyes and could not answer anything, I wanted to admit that he had done this to us, but shame overcame me, and I was afraid that I would be accused of lying, I was afraid of Haight. I'm writing this now, and I'm terribly ashamed of all this, I feel like I hate myself for this. If there are psychologists here, then I would be interested to hear for what reasons we could do this because I can't understand my actions, I don't even remember my intentions. It felt like a game, but we knew something was wrong. It seemed to us that this was not real and that he was a good person. Then the school year begins, I had thoughts about death, a strange feeling of pain in my chest, I liked how I was getting old, dying and finding peace, and also my body was decomposing and soaked in grass. I wanted to take this secret to the grave with me and I didn't want my parents to be disappointed in that person. But I couldn't stand it, the pain in my chest squeezed me even more, and I couldn't carry such a terrible secret with me and told my mother about everything. She didn't actually believe me, but she told my grandmother and she believed me because in her opinion a child can't come up with and lie about such a thing, seriously I had no motives to do so, at that time I was an honest child. Grandma promised me to talk to him and threaten that if he did this to me again, she would complain to his wife or the police, I don't remember exactly. But as the years passed, the promise was never fulfilled. 2016, I am 13 years old, she invited him to visit with her wife. Before that, she warned me that if he came at me, I should threaten him with my finger and say that I would tell my grandmother everything. For a while, everyone went to the balcony to smoke and chat, but he does not smoke and took the opportunity to contact me, he wanted to give me a foot massage (I have flat feet and he began to come up with a hundred reasons why he should massage me), I said no, but he began to insist, they say -"You don't want your legs to be as swollen as those of old women, do you?" I told him that I didn't and didn't give him my consent, but he didn't care, I remember how it hurt during the massage, and how he lifted my dress so that my panties were visible. When everyone left, he quickly fixed everything and returned as if nothing had happened. For a long time I was afraid to tell my grandmother that I was afraid to tell him a warning, my body seemed to be paralyzed, I was embarrassed, offended. Then I found the strength to admit it to her, to which I received condemnation and reproach, like - why didn't I threaten him? I was afraid of the answer, she waved it away. He didn't get anything for it, like last time. This is not the only time they invited him to visit with his wife. The second time he stayed with his wife for the night, don't worry, there was no harassment, but there was a tin. He was supposed to sleep on my bed, however, when I wanted to sleep, I forgot about it (it happens to me, especially when I'm super sleepy), I wanted to sleep on my bed and told my grandmother about it, but instead of reminding me that my bed is occupied for this Night, guess what she said to me? "So you said that he molested you, and today you want to sleep on a bed with an adult uncle?". In such a vulgar way. I started having my first panic attacks when I was lying on my grandmother's bed and looking out the window. I feel like I'm running out of air, but I stay calm. I'm not scared much, but another part of me is glad that now this is the end of my suffering and I'm going to die. But no, it was just a panic attack, but I'm glad I'm alive. So, in the summer of 2018, I am 15 years old and I communicate with my friend in messenger, where she reveals the details of her life. That freak is still coming to her, but everything has become more serious. He was trying to insert his prichendal into some hole. Why was she silent? I was afraid. She has an overprotective mother, she would forbid her to go to the village and see her father especially, which she did not want, she rarely saw her father, my godmother - her aunt and other relatives. Perhaps there were other reasons. But I don't blame her. But it hurts me that she went through these sacrifices and no one saw her suffering. I was not allowed into the village all these years after the incident, at least so, thanks for that. I showed the correspondence to my family, proving definitively that I was not lying. They believed me, and I smile contentedly, to which my mother angrily asks me - "What are you smiling at? Is it nice when another family collapses? What a bad person you are." What did the family do? Nothing again. My father, with whom my mother is divorced and he lives separately, recommended that I buy cameras (why the hell didn't I even have money?), put them on, invite a pedophile to visit when no one is around and film his harassment of me. It's the most fucked-up idea I've ever heard. Moreover, I would not like to go that way for a long time. So, it's still 2018, summer. I got a boyfriend, I turned 16, and here we are sitting like this and decided to film his visits to my friend by going to the village to my godmother. I wanted to put an end to all this and avenge myself. We came up with a plan - we pretend to go somewhere, he stays alone with my girlfriend, we take cameras and film it. The pedophile could do this even when his wife was around, but she didn't see it, so we more or less understood how to catch him. The plan is not perfect, sometimes stupid, now it seems to me to be a cringe. We called my godmother and decided to arrange that I would go to the village, but take my boyfriend with me. She became dissatisfied with something, and my family found out about it. Mom got into my messengers, found out about our plan, as well as about our vulgar correspondence (well, how vulgar? We had vulgar jokes, then condom stickers were popular, and we stupidly sent them to each other a thousand times). What did my would-be relatives come up with? Stock up on kringe pills. Grandma called my godmother and lied that I went there to have sex and sleep with my uncle in the hay (that's what she called my boyfriend). By the way, my ex-boyfriend and I decided to wait until 18 to have sex. And there was never any mention of a hookup in the correspondence. Thank you, you stupid bitch, for shaming me and fooling me into a juvenile prostitute. I remember my mother screaming, "How dare you want to destroy someone else's family? You're a terrible person!" We were punished, Mom said that I was breaking up with my ex because we wanted to destroy someone else's family. And that we would not see each other again, we had to see each other in secret from her and our families. What were you seriously punished for? Me for wanting to expose a pedophile and put him in jail. We have another, but also stupid plan. I went to college, in Russian colleges students do not live in a dormitory, so I lived with my parents. My ex and I decided that it would be better if we ran away, and our friends would rent us an apartment, and so we would hide until we were 18. The first few days we spent the night in the entrance. It was cold and so cringe-worthy that I'm ashamed to remember it. Then we did come back, because the mother of one of the ex's friends had dissuaded us from doing such nonsense, after that we returned, and we were allowed to meet. Anyway, I slipped off the subject. Then I wanted to write an anonymous statement against him, saying they should believe me without proof, but I would have shown the correspondence with my friend, but I chickened out. I decided to tell the adopted daughter of the pedophile's family about what happened, and she believed me, especially with my friend's correspondence. But she also didn't do anything, I asked her to protect my friend, and she promised to do it, but according to my friend, that freak got to her before she came of age, until she grew up and became more feminine. For many years, adults knew that a crime was happening, but no one did anything. And they scared me with bullying, and I had a feeling of guilt that I was bad, since I could destroy someone else's family. Now that freak doesn't bother my friend, but now she insults him harshly and takes off on him, and I think that bastard deserves it. By the way, we took good revenge on him as a child - we peed in a jar at night so that the urine would evaporate, poured it into a glass during the day, told him that it was lemonade, he started drinking...And you should have seen his face. He then whined about how he would go to work with the smell of urine in his mouth. Serves you right, moron. By the way, when my grandparents see him and his wife, that freak is still looking at me, which annoys me, and what happens when I don't expect it. Enrages. I'm 21 now, but I look 15, which is probably why. So, this is not the only case of harassment against me and not only. Let's start with my grandfather. Mom told me when I was little that he groped her when she was a teenager, but Grandma didn't do anything. I told my grandmother about it, to which she replied that my mother was lying. And oh, in vain, I believed my grandmother, because she was lying. Let's go back to 2016, when I was 14, my grandparents got drunk and were drunk. Grandma started asking Grandpa about his motives for molesting my mother. She asked, "Were you looking for diamonds or something?" Grandfather did not answer. I remember crying a lot then and praying to God that it would be better if my grandfather molested me and not my mother. I felt sorry for my mother. At the age of 13, he pressed on my underpants when I was passing by, groping for my gasket, and I started laughing, thinking that this was a game. But then I realized after a second that it was terrible. At the age of 15, he groped my breasts when he was drunk, I told my mother, to which she answered me aggressively - he was drunk. I didn't tell my grandmother. What's the point? At the age of 20, I fell and had a ligament rupture, in the morning I went on crutches to cook breakfast for myself. And he took advantage of this and ran his hand over my ass. It was a shame. Recently, he got drunk and tried to pull off my nightgown, but I didn't let him do it, he groped my chest. Then again when I was sober. I couldn't stand it, I told my grandmother, he doesn't touch me anymore. But Mom thinks it's temporary because she's been bullied by him all her life. I was groped by my former friends, with whom I no longer communicate. And oh damn, how I hate the feeling when my body freezes and I can't move. I justified them, saying they did a lot for me, like my grandfather once did, but thanks to psychology, I don't do it anymore, fuck them. 2021, I turned 20, I went to live with my boyfriend from abusive relatives. Everything was fine, but his father started acting strangely towards me, started seeing me as his daughter, but it went too far. He started with the "harmless" thing - climbing under my T-shirt in front of a guy and adjusting my bra. I decided to talk to him about it and tell him that I feel bad about it, that I don't blame his father, but something strange is happening. My boyfriend (thank God, the ex) started shouting at me -"My father is not like that", despite my calm voice and the offer to discuss everything with him calmly. Then my ex was taken to a mental hospital to check his psychological health before the army, his mother left for the village, and then it started. His father started demanding that I not wear a bra under my T-shirt because my nipples are deformed. And how will I feed his grandchildren then? Or else he would have taken off this bra himself, I had to take it off myself. In addition to the apartment, the older sister and her future husband also lived. And I found an excuse like I don't want his daughter's husband to see my nipples shining through synthetics. And he allowed me to wear a bra on such occasions. He also liked to braid my hair, call me Nyusya, like his daughter. Then it got even worse - he started giving me massages, and if I refused, he did it forcibly, and he also loved when I lay half-naked on my stomach, and when I refused, he justified himself - "you're like my daughter, don't be afraid of me." Once he pulled down my pants to see my naked ass, despite my protests. He was mad when I was sleeping naked under I didn't want him to see me. Even before my ex left for the mental hospital, he came into our room to take something when we were sleeping, and I was sleeping naked, and then he confessed that he had seen my penis. And he apologized for it. Since then, I've been sleeping under a blanket, but also because of his sister's haight that I sleep naked in my ex's room. And personal boundaries? Maybe I don't want to be seen naked? Why did I put up with it? I wanted to keep my toxic relationship with my ex, which I thought was perfect because he saved me from my abusive family, when in fact he did it to control me. I didn't want to go back to my family. Even during the move, I silently packed my things secretly, afraid that I would be discovered and ran away from home without saying anything. They called me for the first few days and asked angrily, "When will you be back?". I knew that no one from that family would believe me. And finally, after the words and screams of my ex, I began to think that I was crazy and exaggerating everything, and that such an attitude was normal, in short, for a moment I went crazy, until my friends returned my consciousness. Although, in fact, this is the very first reason. Then my ex's sister started being jealous of her father, that he started giving me a lot of money, that he called me by her nickname, she told my ex a lot of bad things about me, and so he dumped me. I also remember his angry words- "He never treated us the way he treated you." If you only knew how I had to, dude. I went back to my grandmother, told her everything, she did nothing, reproached me - "Why didn't you come back? Why did you put up with all this? Did you like it?". Back at the age of 21, I was diagnosed with depression and schizoaffective disorder, I don't have the strength to work, especially after the shit that happens in my life. I am constantly bullied for being lazy, bad, and not doing anything around the house. My grandfather said recently: "You're not human if you don't work. You're an animal. And animals can be beaten. What did she say? I'm going to knock your jaw out. I will kick you out of the house because you are not registered." In November, when my beloved cat died, he told me the next day: "Here you are not working and you will die soon, I will pay 1,500 rubles for the disposal of your corpse, as well as your cat." I just hate this scum, all the scum that messed up my psyche. If you've read this to the end, then thank you very much, from the bottom of my heart. And please, without negativity. I wish it was a simple dream. I want to write a book about my life in the future because living with such stories is killing me.

being a COCSA survivor. It has been very confusing. It happened almost everytime i saw my cousin. He was only 1 year older than me. He would show me porn and would explain it to me. All in detail. Then he would tell me to do sexual acts infront of him or he do sexual acts infront of me. He would always say he liked my moans and my body... Always wanting to take a peak of me undressed. "I love you, it's our little secret". He would always say. I didn't really realise it was SA until i learned about COCSA. I was only 7-10 when these things happened. He made me dirty like him

I have lived through many battles, some visible and some invisible. Chronic pain has been a constant companion, and alongside it came experiences of assault, grief, bullying, and being overlooked or targeted in the workplace. Each of these left scars that ran deeper than I could admit at the time. For years, I tried to hold it all in — the pressure, the pain, the silence through alcohol and substances. But it built until I couldn’t contain it anymore, and I crashed hard. My mental health episode was frightening, for me and for those around me. What has made it harder is the culture I grew up in. In South Asian communities, mental health is often brushed aside, stigmatized, or seen as weakness. Instead of compassion, I felt shame. Instead of understanding, I carried guilt. I believed I had let down the people I loved most. But I am learning that what happened was not my fault. Trauma is not a choice. Crashes are not punishments. They are the body and mind crying out for care. I am still here. I am learning to see my sensitivity and survival not as flaws, but as proof of resilience. Sharing my story is part of releasing the shame and reclaiming my voice. My hope is that others who have lived through pain and silence — especially in communities where mental health is hidden — can know they are not alone. Our stories matter. Our survival matters.

We went to high school together, the prom, etc. My first love. 9 years after HS graduation we reconnected at a wedding and were married less than a year later. I liked our childhood connection, and how he liked to fix things. Everyone said it was “meant to be.” But there were many red flags. He abused me in every way. Mentally, by undermining my dreams and hopes (telling me I would never finish my degree). Financially, by spending money we didn't have, hiding major purchases from me, quitting jobs impulsively if he was ever “disrespected.” Physically, by spitting on me, shaking me, throwing me down on the floor. He lied to me, called me names, called me fat, threw away my cherished items then mocked me for picking through the garbage to find them. He also cheated on me and gave me an std then denied it saying I must have cheated on him when I hadn’t. He undermined my sense of reality. The tipping point was finding my 13 year old daughter's diary and reading about what she had heard and witnessed when I thought she was asleep. I couldn't raise her or her brothers around this anymore. The hardest thing was navigating custody. He had never once cared for our 3 children by himself–not even for an afternoon. He had connections in both police and social service agencies and was a former CPS worker so accusations of abuse never stuck to him. He dated and briefly married a lawyer so he had free and unlimited legal representation. He neglected our children, drank heavily (he is an alcoholic) and scared them many times with his rage and outbursts. Not being able to shield them from him was and remains the hardest part. My family is Catholic and takes marriage very seriously as do I. Right before I filed for divorce my mom was telling me how things weren't that bad. I told her that she could 1) either ask me to stop talking about my reality with her or 2) accept my reality–but that I would no longer accept her denial of my reality. She heard me, apologized, and has been fully supportive ever since. Please do not assume because someone is a social worker, calls himself an advocate, or a feminist, or even works as an advocate that he lives out these values in private. My ex was given an award by the police department for his work with homeless people the same week that he locked me outside of our house during a tornado (I had to ride it out in my car in the driveway). Obviously knowing that I'm not alone, that even though more than a decade has passed and that I'm very happily married to a kind and loving man, that this pain stays with me. On my children's birthdays I always struggle remembering how he abused me while I was in labor and recovering from childbirth. That is something very hard to share. Speak Your Truth allowed me to not be alone with those memories for the first time.

When I look in the mirror I see a girl who grew up to fast, who wishes she could get back the past. After all the trauma,abuse, and neglect, It's time to sit back and reflect. As the tears roll down my cheeks my throat starts to burn, I knew what was about to burst. It's like your innocence is a piece of string you never know when someone might take it from you

I was 13 when we met, 15 when things began to escalate, he was 45. I had always enjoyed being friends with adults, it made me feel mature and smart. My family was going through a hard time and I was the kid that fell through the cracks, he volunteered to help out and at the time it was what I thought I wanted, my parents trusted their close friend, and he knew exactly how to get what he wanted. My friendship with him was too close and unhealthy, but I always played it off. Eventually I developed a teenaged crush on him, he was someone I looked up to, trusted, and wanted approval from. He kissed me a bit before my 16th birthday while my family was out shopping. He waited until midnight of my 18th birthday to have sex with me, the minute it was legal. He always talked about how nobody would understand our relationship, and that one day even I would abandon him, thankfully he was right. I was sworn to secrecy, but at that point I didn't need it. I thought I was in love. I thought I would marry this man who was the same age as my father, and have children and live happily ever after with this grooming pedophile. The relationship went on for years, until I started to grow up. I was no longer the timid teen he had groomed, I found friends that encouraged me to be assertive, I spent less time with him, developed a crush on a person my age, started finding him sexually repulsive, the life he had molded me for was crumbling away. When I stopped engaging in the relationship he quickly found a new model, my younger sister. My parents hired him to be her caregiver for her medical and mental health complications. Within a month he was engaging with her physically, and in less than a year, married her. I no longer have a relationship with either of them. It's been years since I got out but it still haunts me: will I ever tell my partner, my parents, my friends? I feel like since it went on for so long then I am at blame for not leaving, I thought I wanted it, I thought I was in love, but it was all the convoluted lies of some disgusting, pathetic, old man targeting a fragile teenaged girl.

I met a guy in 2018 and we got together after my grandmother died. After seeing each other a couple of times, the physical altercations started. Why I let it happen and stayed, I really could not tell you. I made 3 police reports but they were all eventually dismissed. We eventually moved in together and had a son. I did love him and he took care of me (I'm a type 1 diabetic). He was very sweet and always told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world. BUT he was very jealous and possessive and whenever we fought, he usually put his hands on me. I got a black eye, bruised ribs, scratches, bruises, a busted lip, a chipped tooth and many scars. In 2023, he passed away from a drug overdose. I was very sad but also I felt like I was now free. That sounds so awful but I didn't have to worry anymore about going somewhere he didn't want me to or talking to someone he didn't want me to or just doing anything he didn't want me to. Again, why did I stay? I did truly love him and other than that, I don't know.

I was 19 when 1 and i got together. Within the first month i found out he had cheated on me. But we had just moved in together because his mom was kicking him out(he was 23). After we were living together i found out he raped my roomate and also a good friend of mine(2 different folks). I didnt understand for years that being cooersed into sex wasnt normal. It wasn't normal to not want to and feel bad and do it anyway. He eventually got worse. Started punching holes in walls next to my face. Finally after he shook in the car aftter a fight, it hit me i left. I immediately rebounded to 2, 2 grabbed me by my hair while he was on acid and threatened to carve his name into my face. I left shortly after that and 3 swooped in as i was a vunerable target. He would punch his steering wheel when he was angry. And he would guilt me about being scared saying his “ex left him because he was too violent”. I grew up with an abusive father, and i didnt realize until 2 years went by that my saftey was in danger. It started with voilence against objects, and turned into shaking me when i was crying. 3 was never the definition of physical but he would start fights right before bed and keep me up for hours. Telling me what i was doing wrong with my life, my money, what was wrong w my body. At one point a roommate interviened in a fight bc they couldn’t stand hearing 3 berate me the way they constantly did. 3 also would guilt me when i didn't want sex. I wondered for so many years across those relationships, why i never had much sexual interest in my partner after a few months. And i would never feel comfy undressing. It’s because 1 and 2 both felt like they had free access to my body and i didn’t like/understand that. In all im still making peace with all that ive lost. When i left 3, i got together with his friend who saw the abuse and couldnt be friends with him anymore after over it. Alot of my friends chose 3’s side after because they stopped believing me when i got together with friend. Friend and i are still together and im working every day to get past my ptsd from those experiences.